


Day Fourteen

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Series: 30+ Days of TFW Imagines [45]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Guilty!Sam, Reader-Insert, The reader is sorta topless at one point, but no one sees anything, hurt!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5337623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Imagine getting injured on a hunt and Sam stitching you up, feeling terrible about causing you pain + Imagine Sam finding out about your doctor skills and the fact that you dropped out of medicine school after a Demon killed your family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Fourteen

The ghost screeches as you swing the iron bar through its torso, and the vanishes. You whirl to take in the dark cemetery, looking out for its reappearance. Sam gets up from where the ghost threw him into a tombstone. Dean rubs a hand over his face and lets his shotgun drop a little.

"Where did it go?" the elder Winchester asks.

"No clue," you respond. "It could be any- augh!"

The cry of pain bursts from you as sharp claws rake down your back. You double over as they tear into your stomach.

"Y/N!" Sam shouts.

You hear the sound of Dean's shotgun and the click of a lighter. Faintly you're aware of Sam throwing the lighter into the grave and the scream of the ghost. Then strong arms surround you, pulling you to a firm chest.

"I've got you," Sam murmurs, carefully sliding one arm behind your knees, the other behind your shoulders so he can carry you. You let your head loll against his chest. You're crying, you notice. It hurts. Of course you're crying.

"How bad it is?" Dean asks, stepping closer.

"Bad," your boyfriend says. "But not bad enough to need a hospital. We need to get her back to the motel."

You're moving now, swaying gently with Sam's steps. He continues to speak to you in a low, soothing voice, but it doesn't do much to ease the pain. In fact, the movement makes it worse.

Dean helps Sam get into the back seat and gives him a blanket from the trunk. Sam wraps the blanket around your torso in a sort of makeshift temporary bandage. He holds you while Dean drives. You're not sure how fast he's driving, but judging by the passing of the streetlights, he's pushing the speed limit. You close your eyes and let it all fade away.

X X X X X X

Suddenly the car stops and Dean jumps out. He pulls open the door and puts his hand on Sam's head to make sure he doesn't hit it when he gets out. Dean goes ahead to open the door to their room. Sam hurries inside. You're so still and quiet in his arms as he waits for Dean to lay a tarp on one of the beds that he's pretty sure you're unconscious.

Once the bed is covered, he lays you on it and begins carefully pulling your shirt away from the injuries. He's seen you in various states of undress before, but he's hesitant to undress you in front of his brother.

Dean sets the first aid kit on the bed. "I'll be in the car," he says, understanding immediately before Sam can even speak. "Holler if you need some help."

Sam nods. He waits until the door closes behind Dean before he begins cutting your shirt off. Lucky for him, you've started wearing shirts you're not overly fond of when you come with the boys to face the monster of the week. You won't be too torn up about losing this one.

Once your shirt is off and you're just in your bra, he can see clearly how bad the damage is. It's not hospital worthy, but you're going to need a lot of stitches.

"Hurts," you whine softly, startling him.

"Shhh," he soothes, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "I've got you, babe. You're going to be just fine. The ghost scratched you up and you're going to need some stitches, but I'm going to take good care of you. I'm going to start on the cuts on your stomach. Understand?"

"Yep," you groan, pushing your eyes open. The pain has you more awake now.

Sam gets to work. He carefully cleans the cuts and then starts stitching them. You whimper, but don't complain.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I hate having to hurt you."

"Chill, Sam, I can handle a little pain," you assure him.

"Still. Do you need anything?" he asks as he works, trying to be as quick and as neat as possible.

You shake your head. "I'm good for now. I'll probably need something later." You sigh, fingers gripping the tarp. "Ya know, I could probably do a better job of this than you."

He lifts an eyebrow. "You want to make a bet on that?"

"I went to medical school, Winchester. Do  _you_  want to make a bet?"

"Medical school? Really? I didn't know that."

"You never asked."

He finished the first cut and moves into the next. There are three in total. The bleeding is slowing, thank goodness. "I suppose I never did," he says after a moment of silence.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't really matter anymore. I dropped out."

"Why?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Hey, I went to college once, too."

"So, show you mine and you'll show me yours?"

"If you feel up to it."

"Not much else to do. It's not a happy story."

"Never is. You don't have to tell me."

"No, I want to. You deserve to know." You draw as deep breath as you can without disrupting Sam's steady stitching. Talking is distracting you from the pain, so you're definitely going to keep talking. "It was my third year of med school. I was twenty-five. It was Christmas break and I was home visiting my family for the holidays." you can't help smiling at the memory. "I was the oldest of six kids, so there was a lot going on. My brother was in a Christmas play, my sister had a dance concert, and there was extending family visiting almost constantly. You know how it is."

"I really don't, but that's my story. I'm done here. Can you sit up?"

"Maybe." With Sam's help, you manage to get upright. He has you move so he can sit behind you without sitting in blood. "We good?"

"Yep. Keep talking."

"Okay. Well, the day after Christmas is when it happened. All the extended family had gone home except my Aunt Jenni. Somewhere... somehow... she got possessed by a Demon." Sam already knows where this is going, but he doesn't stop you. "That night... she killed them. My whole family. When I found her, in my littlest sister's room..." you make a soft sound Sam realizes is a sob. He presses a soft kiss to a patch of clean skin on the back of your shoulder. "She said she wasn't going to kill me, because the Demons had plans for me. Then she left."

"Y/N..." Sam starts, pausing a moment in his work.

"Bobby and Rufus showed up not long after. Turns out my family was the third in a series." you laugh softly. "I can still remember begging to go with them. Bobby didn't want me to go- he wanted me to go back to school and have a normal life." You let out a humorless laugh. "How could I live a normal life after what I'd seen? I persuaded him to teach me how to be a hunter and well, here I am."

"That's quite the story," Sam says, tying a knot in the thread and cutting it off. "There are more back here, so this is going to take longer. Do you still knot want anything?"

"Some whiskey would be nice."

"Alright. I'll got see if Dean has some. Will you be okay for a bit?"

"I'll be fine."

"Okay. I'll hurry. Can you take your bra off? The straps are going to be in the way."

"You just want me topless," you tease.

He chuckles. "Yeah, that's it exactly." He kisses you softly. "I'll be right back, and then I'll tell you my story."

He ducks outside. Dean's sitting in the Impala messing around on his phone and drinking a beer with AC/DC blaring. Sam knocks on the window, making his brother jump. Dean quickly rolls it down.

"What's up?" he asks, turning down the music.

"Y/N wants whiskey. You got any?"

"Yeah, in the cooler in the trunk. Tell her she can have at it."

"Thanks, Dean. We should be done soon."

"Awesome."

Sam grabs the whiskey and hurries back to the room. You're sitting on the bed with one of his old sweaters clutched to your chest, more out of an attempt to keep warm than modesty.

"Stanford?" you ask, taking the whiskey and gesturing to the sweater- which Sam now recognizes as one of the ones from his college days- with the same hand.

"Yep. But I was a hunter before then."

"Really?"

"Yeah. My mom was killed by a Demon named Azazel when I was six months old- burned on the ceiling. It was Azazel's calling card of sorts. My dad went on a revenge streak for most of my life. He did his best, but Dean still raised me. We lived out of the Impala, motel rooms, and the occasional apartment or house is Dad knew we were going to be sticking around long enough. Man, I must have gone to an average of eight schools a year. Sometimes, when we were younger, he would drop us off with Bobby for a few weeks. I loved those times. I liked going to the school by Bobby's. Plus, Dad treated us like soldiers. It was running and shooting and training exercises every chance he could get. Bobby's was a place for us to be kids. It's where Dean really got interested in cars. Dad taught him some, but Bobby taught him the most."

"Bobby was awesome," you say, taking a swig of your whiskey.

"Yeah, he was. Anyways, I hated that life. I wanted a normal life. You know, wife, two point five kids, a dog, a picket fence, the whole nine yards. So when I got a full ride to Stanford, it was my ticket out. Course, Dad was pissed. He told me if I left to never come back. Well, I left. I didn't hear from Dad for two years. Dean called on occasion at first, but that eventually stopped, too. I had moved on. I had an apartment, a girlfriend, and a diamond engagement ring I spent months saving for."

"A girlfriend?"

"Yeah, Jess. She was actually in Stanford's nursing program."

You smirk. "Sounds like you have a thing for smart chicks."

"Sounds like I do." He finished a cut and moves on to the next.

"Keep going. I want to hear your story."

He smiles and presses soft kisses along the back of your neck. "I hadn't heard from, let alone seen Dean in at least a year and a half when he showed up one night and told me Dad was missing. He wanted me to come with him to Dad's last case- a woman in white."

"Ooh, those are always fun."

"Yeah. I went with him on the condition that I would be back by Monday morning. I had a law school interview."

"Had?"

"I never went. I... I got home late Sunday night and found Jess pinned to our bedroom ceiling. Our apartment burned and I would have gone with it, if Dean hadn't shown up in time to pull me out." His voice is soft. There's a sharp prickling in his eyes that he does his best to blink back. He can't afford to start crying now. He still has half a cut to stitch. "Azazel killed her."

"Sam..."

"It's okay. It was years ago- almost nine, to be exact. I'm okay, I just... sometimes I miss her, you know?" He finishes he last cut and ties off the thread. "There. All done. Let's wash these, and then we can bandage them."

You watch him as he puts the first aid kit away, sweater still clutched to your chest. He rolls up the tarp and sets it aside to be washed in the morning.

"Sam," you say as he fills a bowl with clean water.

He doesn't respond. Just kneel in front of you and begins cleaning the cuts again.

"Sam," you repeat, lifting a hand to cup his cheek.

A lump forms in his throat and his vision blurs. He turns his face into your palm, squeezing his eyes shut. A few tears still escape.

"You loved her," you observe.

He nods. "With all my heart. She was it for me." He knows how this might sound to you, his current girlfriend. "I was going to marry her and become a lawyer, and we were going to have a perfect life. A normal life. And now..." he swallows hard. "Now she's gone. I miss her. I miss her a lot. But... now I have you." He lifts his eyes to your face. "If Azazel hadn't killed Jess, I never would have gone back to hunter and we never would have met."

You lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips. "I understand, Sammy. It's okay. I still love you. Jess and I will just have to share you when we get to Heaven. If she's as awesome as she sounds, that won't be a problem. Now, come on. Let's finish up. I'm sure Dean wants to go to bed."

Sam smiles and gets back to work. "Yeah, he probably does. Wouldn't want to upset Dean."

"Exactly."


End file.
